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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901370">Still the Same</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/erisisdumb/pseuds/erisisdumb'>erisisdumb</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Disney - All Media Types, StarStruck (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:34:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,818</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/erisisdumb/pseuds/erisisdumb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jessica Olsen/Christopher Wilde, Jessica Olson/ Christopher Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jessica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You know for a city with approximately 8.4 million people one would think that the cosmic probability of running into someone from your past would be laughably low, right? Yeah, unfortunately for me I could never be that lucky. In a technical sense I didn’t run into him. I rounded a corner and saw him from across the intersection wearing that stupid hat I let him borrow all those years ago. I don’t know what drew me to actually cross the intersection instead of backtracking to go the long way, probably the tug of my heart when my eyes fell on that worn fisherman’s hat. I’d like to say I’m a completely different person than I was when we last saw each other ten years ago, but the truth is the only thing that has changed is my hair into a boringly straight disaster. At least that’s how it was described to me by Stubby last time he was in town. Still, the issue of my face persists as I head across that intersection hoping he won’t recognize me. He’s made no attempt to look up from his phone as people bustle around him. It’s possible I’ll be able to slide by easily with no interaction, so why does that make me sad. I moved on, literally, from Christopher Wilde years ago so why am I acting like the same sixteen year old girl who was hit in the face with that stage door.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Almost as if my mind calls his name he looks up peering around. I wish I could describe the moment our eyes met as anything but breathtaking, unfortunately it was. Breathtaking, that is. I had heard the phrase about time stopping before but had never really experienced it before. That is until this moment. All at once the loud bustling of the city faded off to the distance and I was left face to face with my worst nightmare. Crystal orbs with no flicker of recognition. He doesn’t remember me at all. Now it felt as though the world was moving too fast, sucking all the air from my lungs as our gaze remained steady. Just when it seems he’s figured it out I do the unthinkable.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh My God is that Christopher Wilde,” that was probably the most horrific thing I could have done. I can’t even flash him a look of regret before he’s swarmed by adoring fans. Even at 28 he still captures audiences with his rockstar charm. I turn away from the growing flashes of cameras before I can catch the hurt in his eyes before crossing the street to leave him behind again. It’s not until I’m a couple blocks away that I dare to pull out my my phone and dial up the one person who I wish I could beat up that didn’t have the initials CW.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well if it isn’t my favorite girl,” I can hear the light innocence in Stubby’s voice and almost fall victim to it if not for my anger still nagging at the base of my skull.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Cut the crap, Albert,” the use of his actual name cuts him off quick, “When were you going to mention that Christopher was in New York.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A slew of curses rings out from his end of the line.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You weren’t supposed to run into each other,” now it's my turn to laugh only it isn’t an easy going one like his was earlier. It’s bitter. Mean, almost.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Funny, considering he was standing on an intersection right outside my apartment. I wonder why that was,” it’s a rhetorical statement. He knows why. It’s not like I live near anywhere he would be caught dead. That was my intention, specifically to avoid issues like this.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m going to kill him,” Stubby mumbles through the phone, “Look, Jess, he misses you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s been ten years.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You know it was never his choice. Losing contact with you destroyed him.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I lean back against the brick wall out of the way, “He follows me on Instagram, that's not a lack of contact.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Jess.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What? I see the tabloids, I know he’s moved on.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You should know better than anyone that tabloids aren’t worth shit,” I groan loud enough to get a look by some old couple passing by on the street. I can’t believe I’m wasting this much energy on Christopher Wilde yet again.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Look. The fact of the matter is it’s my life too and you can’t just go around manipulating it however you please, Stubs,” I sneak a glance at my watch and realize I have to get to work, “Can we discuss this later? I have a meeting I’d really like to not be late to.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Stubby begrudgingly agrees and we part ways, well technologically speaking. I’m so lost in my head I don’t even register when I’m in front of my building. Or in the elevator. Or sitting at my desk. It’s not until my assistant, Jake, throws a stuffed bug at my face. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Earth to Jessica? You in there?” He’s being obnoxious now, waving his hands in front of my face as if I’ve gone blind.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Will you cut it out,” I swat at his hand and he falls back in his chair laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I was only doing my job as a concerned citizen. Barry told me you didn’t even say hi to him when you came in today,” annoyance flared in me, Christopher hasn’t been back in my life for an hour and he’s already disrupting my patterns. I catch myself scowling in the reflection of my computer screen.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’ve just had a weird morning that’s all,” I smile hopefully easing the skepticism covering his face.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Uh huh, okay. Wanna hear your schedule for the day, boss?” My smile comes out genuine this time as I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Lay it on me, subordinate.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Meeting with Clara in about nine minutes, blah blah blah, boring, work stuff, ooh, this item is interesting. It says ‘dinner with your handsome assistant’ huh how interesting. I’m handsome AND I’m your assistant,” I roll my eyes. He’s been asking me out everyday for the past three years. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend a nice night with him. I just kept getting so caught up with work stuff or… okay mostly work stuff but I just could never find the time.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I can’t tonight I’m-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Busy, yeah, I know. It’s okay Jessica, there’s always tomorrow,” he gives me that kind of smile that let’s me know it’s all in good fun. I return a small grin before noticing the time realizing I need to start heading to the meeting with the head of our company. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Catch you later, Jake, and don’t spend all day playing Panda Pop please.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, pulling out his phone. I roll my eyes for the eighth time today, a small smile playing across my lips as I head upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Knocking on the glass door of the conference room, drawing my boss’s attention, I step in to see I’m the first to arrive. Which wasn’t strange at all. Clients, especially those of the rich and famous regard, tended to make their own schedule. As I set my notebook down, my boss beckons me to her side.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Look at this!” She exasperatedly flails at her computer with ‘Starstruck’ spread across the top like a neon sign of trouble. As for the content of the Starstruck news spread it wasn’t anything terribly exciting. Just a star getting arrested at one of his parties.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What exactly am I looking at?” Her face shifts into mock appalment.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Isn’t is obvious,” the slight parting of my lips must suggest otherwise because she dramatically rolls her eyes, pointing to the screen, “It says he was arrested at his party but there is absolutely no mention of who planned the party.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Laughter erupts from my chest.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s what you're mad about? Someone getting arrested and us not getting credit for planning the event where it took place?” No one could accuse Clara of lacking a one track mind. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s the principle of the thing! Even bad press is still press! You should know that better than anyone,” I’d like to say that my teenage affair with Christopher didn’t affect my adult life, but that would be a lie. When I first started in the event planning business many companies reached out wanting to work with me… in hopes of gaining Christopher as a client. To say that shot my self esteem to hell was putting it mildly. It took months of Clara convincing me she wanted me for my work ethic and past planning history for me to agree to join her event firm. Still, the jabs about Christopher came out more than I’d like.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Is the client ever planning to show up?” I asked, attempting to change the subject. Clients are never punctual, but they’re never this obnoxious. Clara doesn’t seem bothered by this as she types more into the search bar to find other parties where our recognition was sniped.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, their manager called. Apparently they got mobbed by adoring fans on their way here,” warning bells immediately go off in my head. But that’s ridiculous it couldn’t be him. The universe doesn’t hate me that much, does it? The big, glass conference room suddenly feels like a suffocating box draining all the air around me. Rumbling starts outside. Flashes of cameras going off. I barely have time to process the outer commotion before the client steps into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Before Christopher Wilde steps into the room.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Jessica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>My life is actually a joke. Clara looks just as shocked as I feel so at least this wasn’t a fucked up conspiracy. I’m waiting for Christopher to meet my eyes, but he looks everywhere else. Oh my God, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I can’t believe him. I did everything in my power after the whole fiasco of finding a job to distance myself from everything Wilde, including my name. There is no possible way he could look up this event firm and know the pictureless Jessica Knight was me. To be fair he is the kind of crazy lunatic who would go to every event planning company in the city in hopes of finding one thing. God, he needs a therapist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, shall we get started? Ms. Knight,” props to Clara for being the ever present business woman. While also most definitely trying to make subtle jabs like using ‘Ms’ as if my singality is in question and my fake last name instead of my real first name she always uses in front of clients. It makes me smile for the first time in this tragic situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat Mr….?” I ask as if it doesn’t haunt my dreams. Chris eyes me with suspicion but doesn’t comment on that as he takes his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilde. Christopher Wilde, but my friends call me Chris,” our eyes connect again in what seems like an endless battle of wills. I cough, looking away before I risk saying something stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Mr. Wilde we have many different party plans to choose one for the event in question like-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an album release party. Preferably around the New Year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, we have plenty of options for those types of ordeals if you would just look at-” he cuts me off yet again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want a custom party,” his eyes flick to mine, “designed by you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room goes so earth shatteringly quiet. Even Clara is shocked by the bold request. For the second time in one day I feel time stop. Who does he think he is coming in here and doing shit like this? By the determined look on his face he knows exactly what he’s doing too. Clara is the first to recover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Wilde, that is quite the request are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable with me or one of our more experienced planners working on this with you?” It takes me a second,  to realize what she’s doing. To anyone else it would seem as though she was undermining my own skills to land a big client for herself, but she’s trying to protect me from him. “Custom projects” as they’re so called require a lot of interaction between the client and the planner. Which Christopher had to have somehow known and since it wasn’t really promoted on our website that means… I’m gonna kill him. I grab Clara’s attention so that I can speak, we have enough men interrupt us we don’t need it from each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Mayfield if it’s what the client wants we should be as accommodating as possible. However, in order to get the full scope for these situations we need input from a manager or publicist,” I smile hoping he’ll fall into the trap I’m setting. His face falls for a second before immediately lighting back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, my manager is waiting downstairs in the car,” hook, line, and sinker. My own genius scares me sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Let me go escort him up,” I head towards the door as the smile slips off Christopher’s lips. He stands, kind of in the dramatic way only seen in movies. Looks like it finally hit him that this game of pretend won’t last when I talk to his manager.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, I can go get him, don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s no trouble, in fact it’s my pleasure. Wouldn’t want that rock star persona taking a hit with a mere assistant level duty.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I insist.” He’s playing a losing game still, he persists. Clara interrupts.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mr. Wilde, it’s really no trouble. Besides, you saw the commotion when you entered here, I think it’d be in everyone’s best interest to avoid that for the time being,” God I love her. Christopher can’t argue with that logic, so I’m out the door and down the stairs before he can find a way. I pull the door not the least surprised to see Stubby sitting there going over Christopher’s sales analytics.  </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“How’d it go, Chris?” He asks, eyes still focused on the laptop.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Fairly good, but I think Jessica is gonna be sent to jail for murdering you,” his head turns to me so fast I’m afraid he’ll get whiplash. All forms of fear play out across his face. Good. I punch him in the arm.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s for being a weasel about this Christopher scenario,” I punch him again, “and that’s for not telling me you were in town even though we spoke on the phone an hour ago!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Jeez Jess,” he rubs the spots where I punched. Serves him right.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown Christopher in my face with no warning,” I yell. Pedestrians stare with large eyes as they pass. I can only imagine what they’re seeing. A crazed common girl attacking an innocent rich person. God, could this get any worse?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“To be fair I didn’t know you’d be in the physical meeting, I thought it’d be a meet cute situation,” of course he did. Albert J. Stubbins is the definition of a hopeless romantic, why am I even surprised at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“This is still my job, Stubby! You can’t play God with this for the drama,” It’s like the first time he realized that these events have actual consequences, “Look, I’ll call you later, but I have to go up and try to explain to Christopher Wilde that Mayfield Incorporated wants nothing to do with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I slam the car door to make a point and spin around to kindly meet my fate. Stubby rushes out of the car, attempting to block my path.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Wait,” he calls as I slip inside, waving to Barry on my way to the elevator. Stubby catches up to me, slightly out of breath, just as the doors open.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Damn, slow down I’m not as young and vibrant as I used to be,” I hit the button for the top floor, ignoring him. He sighs,</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Jessica.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What?” There’s a bit of edge in my voice, but he doesn’t back down, in fact his expression turns soft, like when something terrible happens but you find the subject so endearing you can’t help it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I really need your help on this album release party. As you may have heard he’s had some… issues as of late and this party is his last shot. Please,” He sure was relentless, might have to think about setting him up with Clara, but at the moment that feels like a whole other issue.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ugh, fine. You win,” Stubby pumps his fist right as the elevator dings revealing Clara and Christopher shaking hands. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What? Did I miss all the fun,” I ask, while watching Christopher get swarmed by fans on his departure. Clara sighs beside me.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I told him we’d think about it, but I’m not going to put you through that,” working with her all these years has really led to a well developed bond between us. Which is probably why she seems so perplexed by my next statement.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We should do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Have you lost your mind,” I turn to go to my desk. Jake eyes me as I sit down and open up a new client folder for Christopher. Clara is hot on my heels.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, Jessica, I’m serious. I’ve worked with an ex before and almost jumped off a cliff.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do we know the album’s color palette? That’d be a good base for the theme.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Jessica,” I’m taken aback a bit as Clara raises her voice. I guess this is ‘get Jessica’s attention by yelling her name’ day.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s okay, Clara, truly. His manager and I are old friends. I’m just doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> a favor.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Fine,” she stalks back to her office. Jake watches in amusement as this all unfolds. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Who knew Jessica Knight was so interesting,” my eyes involuntarily rolled at him. I need to get to work planning this stupid release party. I type mindlessly into my search bar.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, haven’t you heard? I’m all the rage in Europe,” it comes out more monotone than the usual cute and flirty. That’s not very fair of me. I turn my full attention to Jake fidgeting with his stuffed bug. When he notices me staring he stops and gives me his show stopping smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What are you doing tonight?” Jake looks around as if I’m not talking to him. Once our eyes meet again an unspoken thought crosses between us making his eyes go wide.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You know my nights are always reserved for you, my love,” the hint of both sarcasm and vulnerability is spread across his face as he eagerly awaits whatever it is I’ll say next.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do you want to meet at Starlight diner around 8? You can hear all about my many escapades in life then,” He turns back to his desk with a nod. He’s probably just as shocked by it as I am. The rest of the day passes in a blur of comfortable silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not until I am home that I let the events play out in my mind at full volume. Christopher Wilde. Christopher Wilde is back in my life for the foreseeable future. And I’m going on a date. I haven’t been on a date in three years. Oh my God I haven’t been on a date in THREE years! What am I going to wear? I tear through my closet trying to decide what the hell I’m going to wear. Your casual nice wear really takes a hit after three years of only dressing up for business occasions. In a futile attempt to save this tragedy, I text Stubby. I need all the help I can get. Curling my hair, I decide to scroll aimlessly through my phone. An article with Christopher’s name at the top catches my eye. If the paparazzi harassed Christopher and I as much as they did when we were minors I can only imagine the shit they’ve caused with Christopher as an adult who occasionally consumes adult beverages. Honestly, that’s what I was expecting to find, but there’s nothing of the sort. Apparently there was rumored buzz that Christopher Wilde is putting out his first album in five years and people are wondering who the woman is that peaked his interest after all this time. I wish the speculation of what women or whatever the album was about that bothered me, but it’s not. He hasn’t put an album out in five years? I know I stopped paying attention to him and his music after a while, but he stopped making music completely? That couldn’t be because of… no, there’s no way he wouldn’t. I put the cap on my mascara, pondering his drop off from the world of music. It could be because of the movies he’s been in over the last couple of years. I’m still getting nightmares from his role in Cats. I think he has been touring? Jake tried to drag me once, but I was busy. Oh crap. Jake! I sulk to my closet, trying on outfit after outfit while still being plagued with that article. On like the third one there’s a knock at my door. Finally, Stubby, it’s been almost two hours since his ‘be right over text’. I swing the door open without thinking to check who it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank God you’re here I was starting to get worried,” only then do I make eye contact with the person standing at my door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re fucking kidding me.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Jessica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>A rational, well-adjusted person would probably invite global superstar Christopher Wilde into their apartment, show him how much better off they are without him, but I am not. The proof being me immediately slamming the door in his face. This has been the longest day of my life, it’s completely warranted for me to act like a crazy person. Taking a couple deep breaths to console myself, I open the door smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Mr. Wilde, I regret to inform you that I am actually not on the clock right now,” he’s not paying attention to my words, his eyes are drifting down over my body. Shit. I forgot I was dressed like an idiot. Blush creeps up my cheeks as I search the nearby area for something to cover the horrendous getup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry, I was expecting Stubby to be here to help, I don’t,” A thousand rambling thoughts rush out of me as my embarrassment grows. Cherries probably have nothing on my current complexion. Yet, all Christopher does is laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jessica, stop you look great,” I’m sure that won’t go to my head. It does seem to clear it though and suddenly I’m sickeningly aware of the fact that Christopher Wilde is on my doorstep at 7pm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. Why are you here? I have a life besides work.” Okay that may have not been true up until today, but dammit if i’ll give any indication of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not here because of work, Jess,” God, if he could stop shorting my name as if we know each other that’d be great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you here, Christopher?” There’s a layer of anger lining my voice, for a second I think I almost see guilt overtake his polished features. Serves him right; he doesn’t get to walk into my life as if it’s his side hobby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kind of an awkward story,” he looks away ashamed. Oh Lord what has he done now? I don’t have time for this. I open my door a little wider then stalk in towards my kitchen. It’s probably a good way to get murdered but that’s all the invitation he’s going to get whether or not he chooses to take it. The soft click of the locking mechanism indicates his acceptance. He stands frozen in the doorway as if he didn’t think he’d get this far, if I’m being honest neither did I. We both stand there, the silence threatening to drown us. I turn around planning to ask him to leave but our poor timing aligned yet again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look Christopher I’m actually-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was worried-,” leave it to us to still talk at the same time even after 10 years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says, taking another step towards me, “I wasn’t really thinking I just saw your name and ‘emergency’ on Stub’s phone screen and reacted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tend to react rather quickly to a lot of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not fair, Jess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it? And it’s Jessica,” he doesn’t get to pretend he cares about me in an intimate way anymore, and I wish the tears pricking at my eyes understood that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you can see I am perfectly fine so, if you’d please, go, you’re good at that,” I go over and open the door trying to not look at him. I never expected to still feel all this hurt after all these years. He pauses right before exiting, whispering as if nothing, not even the walls, are welcome to his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not the one living in New York,” before I have a chance to retort my door is shut and he’s gone. A knock at my door has me hopeful that maybe he realized he was being a petulant child. I try not to look too devastated as Jake’s look of amazement meets my gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, did I just see Christopher Wilde walking down your hallway?” I smile, giving a small shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s hopelessly in love with me,” the joke falls short on my lips. It doesn’t seem to phase Jake as he extends his arm like a stuck up gentleman in a movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady?” I laugh as I grab his arm letting him pull me along to the restaurant, still trapped in the chaos of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All throughout dinner with Jake all I can think about is my encounter with Christopher. Just, I don’t understand where he gets off on coming in and fucking up my life. I half expect him to show up, sing a song from his straight to dvd musical as some sort of depraved gesture. Unlike Disney I don’t fall for that type of crap. It’s not until I’m on my doorstep that I step out of my daze seeing Jake staring at me with a sad smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” can he read my mind? Does he see how pathetic I’m being? Maybe I’m giving off that vibe oh god. He simply laughs a laugh that rivals his smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have known,” my eyebrows quirk in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Jess. Christopher seems like a great dude and honestly half the fun is the chase.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud laugh vibrates through me causing his face to light up with a genuine smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are the worst.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I try,” he does a little bow to drive the point home then extends his hand, “friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake it firmly, barely containing another laugh, “Friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go nurse my broken heart over a glass of chamomile tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You drink chamomile tea?” I ask the shock visibly showing on my face as he smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess you’ll never know, farewell my lady, see you in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t help but watch as he stalks down the street. Did I really seem hung up on Christopher Wilde? After what happened five years ago I swore to myself that I would never even think about getting trapped in his webs again. All he does is hurt people, well he hurts me, but saying that aloud would seem a bit narcissistic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need a drink,” I doubt the cold air of New York cares about that statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My glass has barely been poured when the call I’ve been dreading, and hoping to somehow magically avoid, comes through. There’s a contemplation period where the thought of letting it go to voicemail appeals to me, but I know it will just start ringing again. Better to get this over with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press the button accepting the painful call that lies ahead, “Jessica Olson speaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re seeing Christopher again? How is that fair?” my eyes start to roll before I can stop them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello to you too, Sarah,” leave it to my sister to be married with two kids and still pining over Christopher Wilde.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just you’ve had opportunity after opportunity and here I am never getting a shot even with Stubby. With Stubby, Jessica,” she shouts the last part, most likely causing serious damage to my eardrums. She’s almost thirty years old, still obsessing about boys in too tight jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are things with Kyle these days?” It’s a terrible attempt at a subject change. She loves her husband to death, but she loves my drama more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he’s great. Taking the girls on a camping trip in our backyard this weekend. In fact he’s the one who told me about you and Christopher,” she threw in that last part just to make me feel guilty for not telling her myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s not much to tell,” I take a sip of my wine, “He’s planning a party, I work for one of the top party planning companies in the country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can only hope that the paparazzi weren’t able to catch coherent shots of him stalking my apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, Jessica, I swear you’re like this on purpose. You could literally have it all but instead you’re too focused on being a stubborn eighteen year old.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You so are! Christopher made an uncontested mistake and you just never forgave him for it,” Oh, if only she knew the full story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sarah, it’s in the past. Just like any semblance of a romantic relationship between me and Christopher Wilde,” It’s like I can physically feel here pout through the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever, do you know when you’re coming home next? All the twins do is ask about their Aunt Jessie, even my own kids like you more than me,” my sister is insufferable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true your girls adore you. As for me well,” the calendar hanging on my fridge glares at me, I’m completely booked for at least the next month, “I’m going to try to be there for the holidays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hope this satisfies her cause I really don’t want to explain my schedule is filled with Christopher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess that’s fine,” she mumbles, “Okay well I expect updates about you and Christopher daily. Goodnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hangs up before I can give her the usual speech about client confidentiality. For someone so invested in dumb things she’s awfully intelligent. The red numbers on my alarm clock tell me I lingered on the phone too long. Taking my almost full wine glass I walk over to the pitcher sitting in the fridge. It’s comically full of wine I’ve never had the chance to drink and probably will never drink. It makes me feel good though so that has to count for something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tomorrow is a new day and I’m determined to not let the past continue tormenting</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Jessica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you went on a date with Jake, he’s been asking you out for ages,” Clara is trying to comprehend my craptastic night, I think I’m still trying to comprehend it myself. Luckily she’s managed to skip over the parts relating to Christopher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm hmm,” there wasn’t much I could say. I stayed up until three in the morning going over all my different conversations from yesterday. Most importantly the one with Jake, I was terribly worried that our working relationship would be affected. I’m usually the picture of professional perfection, I can’t believe I thought it smart to go out with Jake just to mentally spite Christopher Wilde. He’s only been back in my life a bit over 24 hours and he’s already causing disruptions in my judgement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clara and I are sitting in her office going over the different concept outlines I created for Christopher’s party. The sooner we decide on the concept the sooner I can start actually planning the party and not interacting with Christopher. It’s not until noon that I realize the custom party Christopher just had to have is being planned without him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Clara, not that I’m dying to be around him, but where is Christopher?” Clara’s cool facade remains intact as she starts making a buzzing noise. To anyone else it would simply appear that she does not know the answer, but I haven’t worked this close to her over the years to not know her tells. She doesn’t want to tell me something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Wilde flew home to Los Angeles early this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So he made a big deal about getting me as the head of the project only to not be here for the planning? That doesn’t make any sense,” Clara is quiet, turning towards her window outlooking the city. She’s hiding something, “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence, threatening to consume us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You leave for LA tomorrow,” and that’s it. There’s no question or fight or anything left in her tone. This is the boss that the first floor interns fear. Stubby is going to get an earful tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see, well if you’ll excuse me I have to go prepare,” she doesn’t attempt to stop me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drift over to my desk trying to figure out what I’ll need for this whole excursion. The opening notes of ‘Wild &amp; Free’ drift through the air hitting my ears like a cold shock. Looking over at Jake I see he has the first album Christopher wrote about me pulled up and playing it softly through his speakers. There’s no way he can know, doesn’t lessen the surrealness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you listening to over there?” Jake does the most dramatic impression of a man devastated by love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just nursing the aching wound of my broken heart in the most petty way possible,” I peer over his shoulder, to see Christopher’s fan site from 2012 pulled up. The height of male infatuation that year was. Looking a bit closer I can’t suppress my bubbling laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sending Christopher Wilde hate mail?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It borders on the edge of more ridiculous things I’ve seen men do. However, it doesn’t even phase me coming from Jake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He stole the love of my life from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you also listening to his album?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s full of bops that remind me of you”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leave it to my assistant to turn an album that has made me anxious for years into a source of laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also he didn’t steal me, I’m not a possession. I know your mother taught you better than to say things like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a grown man, I don’t care what my mother thinks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should call her and test that theory,” his permanent smile drops from his face. He loves his mom more than anything, but she’s also been an outspoken feminist for years and would give Jake the worst talking to of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh that won’t be necessary. I quite enjoy my genitals,” he exits out of the Christopher Wilde fan page as if it proves his statement.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So,” he wheels his chair closer to me, “Heard you’re heading out to California.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“How? I only found out myself,” he gives me an incredulous look.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Contrary to popular belief I am incredible at my job.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I raise my eyebrows in question. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, Clara asked me to book something for you and keep it on the D-L.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I guess I shouldn’t be mad that my boss asked my assistant to do his job, but Clara is never one to go behind a person’s back. Some might call her cold for always being so upfront and calculating with people. She’s just been hurt before by men of the same caliber, I can’t really hold it against her. Something is still nagging at me as I stare over my screen at Jake.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re not really jealous about Christopher, are you? Cause there is absolutely nothing there,” he stops typing.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No,” that’s a relief, “but..”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Oh no.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’ve never seen you so worked up over something like this before, like even five years ago you never felt this off.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Being slapped by words hurts as bad as the real thing let me tell you. I can’t believe how Christopher Wilde manages to beat me up without ever physically touching or being in the same room as me. It’s just so annoying how my heart refuses to catch up with my brain. I give Jake some tasks to do before I leave. Normally I’d take him with me, but I need help with other smaller projects while I’m away. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Once everything is set away to my satisfaction I take a glance around the office I won’t see for at least a month. The rustle of the wind against glass feels like some screwed up omen warning me of the troubles awaiting me in Los Angeles. I don’t think anything will be able to prepare me for the shitstorm that lies ahead of me. It’s like some sick universe conspiracy to never let me move on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take my time walking home that night. There’s just something about New York City at night, besides the sheer number of tourists catching a glimpse of time square. Sure, it’s terrifying, the lights and noise can be blinding, but there’s just a tragic magic looming through the air, putting all anxieties at ease. </span>
</p><p>
  
  
  
  
  
  <span>         ***</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Albert J. Stubbins you have a death wish,” I blow out an annoyed breath as I peer around the LAX parking lot. Stubby said he’d be here an hour ago, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I know Los Angeles traffic is the worst, but this is insane.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I know, Jessica. Chris ran long at the studio, I swear I’m almost there,” the sound of a key turning in the ignition suggests otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Fine, you better be alone.” Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, I’m going to have to make a quick detour </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll be there,” the line goes dead before I have the chance to be annoyed. When he finally pulls forty-seven minutes later I’m too drained to fight, besides it is highly unprofessional. I just want to go to my hotel and sleep forever. Stubby looks over at me, his face turning sour like he ate something bad.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re wearing that?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I was on a plane for six hours, what did you expect I was wearing?” His thumbs beat on the wheel anxiously.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I just expected you to look, I don’t know, more put together.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, I figured the only people I’d see were those in the airport, you and the hotel staff. I don’t have a meeting until tomorrow,” the mention of the hotel causes him to almost slam on the brakes. Dread starts to fill my stomach. It’s only then that I notice the rolling hills and Hollywood mansions flying past my window. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Stubby… you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Please don’t be mad,” he pulls into a driveway and confirms my suspicions.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I’m staying at Christopher Wilde’s house.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Jessica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I honestly don’t even know why I’m surprised at this point, but there was no way I was staying at Christopher’s stupid mansion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not getting out of this car,” Stubby sighs as if he expected this. Geez I wonder why, it’s not like I’ve ever expressed distaste for Christopher John Wilde. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jess, just listen,” I cut him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I won’t listen. I’ve been through the biggest clusterfuck of events these past couple of days. One after the other and it's all because of him. Not even a romcom has this many universal coincidences! Don’t you see that! I understand he’s your best friend, but you’re my friend too, Stubby,” Stubby stares up at the house, not saying a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just thought…” He trails off searching for the right words, “I don’t know, I guess I thought that the both could move on from the past and reconcile. You’ve always been good for one another and I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head falls back on the car headrest and he looks over at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I messed up big didn’t I?” I nod somberly even though I really don’t blame him. I shouldn’t be taking any of this out on Stubby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay here’s what we’re going to do,” I glance wearily up at the looming mansion, “You’re going to take me somewhere I can change and make hotel reservations. And then we, read you and I only, will go get ice cream or something and properly catch up. Sound good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods enthusiastically, then something dawns on him and he’s frowning again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What now?” I whine, in my defense a New York to LA flight is a pain in the ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christie is kind of expecting you,” I just stare at him, “Don’t look at me like that! Really you should expect this of me by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This makes me laugh for the first time in what feels like forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair point,” I flip the lock mechanism, pushing myself out of the car. The sooner I get this over with the sooner I can attempt to figure out how I’ll survive this trip. Stubby sprints around the car to block my path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, wait, wouldn’t you rather change before going in to see Chris?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m good, I couldn’t give two shits what Christopher John Wilde thinks about my appearance. Plus do expect me to just strip here in the driveway? The paparazzi would love that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stubby opens his mouth , but my hand goes up cutting him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna hear it, let's just get this over with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks like he wants to argue more, but eventually leads the way into the forbidden fortress. I don’t really know what I was expecting when I stepped into the home I hadn’t stepped foot in in five years. Maybe a lingering chill? Or a place frozen in time? But that wasn’t what it was at all. Instead I found walls, once covered in Christopher’s face and paint that was a little too white, painted over with a soft blue and only a couple photos of Christopher with his sister, Sanjay, and their daughter. The air feels almost warm and inviting like the perfect summer breeze. Plants frame the doorway making it appear almost normal and homey, not like a multimillionaire superstar walked the halls. For someone who was supposedly a train wreck it sure seemed like he had his life together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A funny feeling settles in my chest. Could this have been my life? With family photos of genuine laughter lining the halls? No, it wouldn’t. He made it clear a long time ago he’d never choose me. I shouldn’t be here. This was a bad idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stubby, I think we should go, I don’t…” I’m cut off by the end of the hall opening and engulfing us in a blinding light. I see now why Stubby wanted me so desperately to change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jessica! How are you!!!” Alexis Bender shrills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so in shock it’s a miracle I produce words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alexis, Hi,” I search for the right thing to say, but all that ends up coming out is, “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks at me as if I’m speaking gibberish. Who knows maybe I am.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I’m here for Chrissy poo of course,” Only then do I realize Christopher is in the room as well. She leans over and puts her hand on his chest, her rings glistening in the light. I can’t see straight enough to know if she’s wearing one on the most important finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s nice,” the words sound hollow coming out of my mouth, “Um, well, uh, I have to go, um, check into my hotel. Long flight and all. See you all later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clara would scold me well into the new year if she saw my lack of professionalism, but I had to get out of there. Christopher? I can deal with, but Christopher AND Alexis? I may as well be twenty two again. It’s actually kind of funny to be running out of the mansion on the exact same path I did back then. I’d laugh if my brain wasn’t so full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It suddenly dawns on me, as I burst out into the waning light of Los Angeles, that I have no real way to actually go to a hotel. Pretty sure the universe woke up last week and decided my life was going to turn into a bad joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think this is funny,” I yell to the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More worrisome than anything else,” I don’t have to turn around to know who that voice belongs to. Thanks Universe. Maybe if I stare out over the hills, pretending that I didn’t hear him, Christopher will leave me alone. The slight warmth and shift in wind indicates otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jessica.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns to me blocking what’s left of the sun, I move to glare at him only to find a horrid angelic halo effect of sunlight surrounding him and those stupidly gorgeous blue eyes. It’s really not fair. I can’t take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing it again,” Okay, it appears I may be a tad exhausted and it’s showing. Christopher just smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what is that exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know exactly what you’re doing!” I add air quotes for emphasis, “‘The Look’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just stares at me for a solid thirteen seconds before he makes the connection and bursts out laughing. I didn’t think it was very funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m leaving,” not exactly sure where it is I’m going, but anywhere is better than having to deal with someone stuck at seventeen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jessica, wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do not wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you tomorrow, Mr. Wilde,” there a professional barrier officially back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand slips around my wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” Honestly I’m kind of annoyed with myself at this point, but I can’t seem to help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Jess, I can’t believe all these years later you’d still rather walk aimlessly then get in a car with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bad driver.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes— you know what you’re insufferable, where's Stubby?” I peer over Christopher’s shoulder in an attempt to see if my knight in shining pleather was coming to my rescue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s busy,” I scoff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I find that hard to believe considering the person he manages is out harassing innocent people for no reason,” not exactly true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christopher’s eyes flick down to wear his hand still lays, lightly gripping my wrist. He drops it and I can’t help admit that I miss his warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I’m tired. I just want to find a hotel and put the day behind me. I’ll deal with whatever hell you and Alexis want to put me through tomorrow.” Maybe I can stealthily call an uber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alexis and I aren’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All due respect, I don’t really care,” Damn these insane Hollywood Elite surge prices. Christopher is saying something, but I’m not really paying attention until… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... At least take one of my cars.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyebrows shoot up clearly not expecting me to agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I get to pick which one.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Christopher</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Why am I always watching her leave? It doesn’t feel fair. Granted I’m mostly to blame for the distance between us. Well, I mean *technically* Jessica going to school in New York is to blame, but physical distance has nothing to do with the chill between us two. Maybe I should have chased after her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cause that worked out so well the last time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The little voice in my head loves to replay that moment from three years ago, I stood outside some restaurant in New York watching Jessica having the time of her life with some douchebag who I wanted more than anything to punch in the face. Instead, I wrapped my car around a tree. That was not the ideal way of returning to front page news after all but vanishing a couple years prior when Jessica didn’t show up on New Years. Maybe I should have been trying to move on or find more carefree song subjects, but when I wasn’t consumed with the emptiness of LA my thoughts revolved around her. If it wasn’t for Stubby I would have faded into just another Hollywood has been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude,” Stubby walks up behind me, clapping a hand on my back. We stand there for a second, watching the California sunset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” he starts, “Do you wanna discuss what just happened with your boy Stubs or should I call Alaina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe talking to my therapist would be a good thing right about now, but I don’t need another lecture about my grasp on the past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did Jessica get her driver’s license?” It just dawned on me. What if she was bullshiting and I just gave her one of my million dollar cars? Or worse she gets hurt? Or— Stubby sighs beside me as I avoid the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s twenty-seven, Chris. Did you expect her to never get one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She lives in New York I just thought…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not exactly sure, but driving was always our thing. We’d drive around the coast, she’d make fun of my driving, say she was never learning to drive so she wouldn’t be at risk, we’d laugh, and then turn the radio up. It was perfect. And I was content being her chauffeur, I’d go anywhere with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, man,” I smile, though I know it doesn’t reach my eyes, and hook my arm around Stubby turning back towards the house, “Let’s go finish the chat with Alexis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alexis is fuming, pacing around when we arrive back in the sunroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are the biggest idiot alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the general consensus, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be smart with me Christopher John Wilde. What were you even hoping to accomplish with that little display,” I open my mouth but she puts a hand up cutting me off, “This was supposed to be a favor, to prove to Jessica you were as over her as she was you. Instead! Poor Jessica ran out of here nearly crying, and you ran after her! That proves a semblance of care on both sides! And you know what’s worse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have a feeling she’s going to tell me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now Jessica hates me again! I really wanted her to plan Zac and I’s engagement party and now look what you’ve done! Pitting women against each other isn’t a cute look, Christopher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Noted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re infuriating. I’m leaving,” she hugs Stubby and glares at me on her way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you learned to stop screwing over Alexis Bender in 2010,” Stubby says exasperated as Alexis slams the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say I left my brain cells in New York,” shrugging I walk over to the fridge only to remember it’s empty. Trying to be a real boy these past five years had proved more difficult than originally thought, leading to borderline negligence of myself. Maybe I </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> call my therapist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you forget to buy food again?” Stubby deadpans from across the kitchen, not lifting his eyes from his phone screen as he types. He’s probably texting Jessica. God, I wish I hadn’t accidentally on purpose thrown my phone into the Hudson river. Sure I could buy a new one, but I can’t even remember to go to the grocery store these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,” I lie, “Do you want to grab take-out from The Palm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stubby rolls his eyes, but grabs the keys to Dolly and heads out the door anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going grocery shopping after this,” he starts the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I don’t need any,” Okay I do, but that is not the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well the rest of us do, Chrissy. Plus after this mess the least we can do is buy Jessica some groceries,” He had me there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The place was packed when we showed up, not that it mattered we have a standing reservation. Okay I have a standing reservation because I forget to buy food most nights. If it wasn’t for my sister, Stubby, and The Palm I would redefine starving artistry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what if we-,” Stubby stops short of giving the keys to the valet at something behind me. I turn to look, but he grabs my attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I’m suddenly craving Italian. Let’s go to Miceli’s instead,” he starts ushering me back towards the car, but I stop in my tracks laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on man, we’re already here let’s just-,” and then I see it, the thing Stubby was trying to hide from me. Standing at the entrance to The Palm laughing is Jessica with my fucking ex. Of course. Fucking Joe Jonas.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay Christopher's POV!! I am so sorry if it's bad &lt;3 I am not good at writing men, but y'all were right and Christopher does have a perspective that adds something to the story so... anyway thank you for reading my mental illness I love you. Also I am AWARE this is short I just have too many thoughts I needed to slow down for a second.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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